La Vie De La Reine
by MadameMorganLeFay
Summary: The untold adventures and untimely mishaps of Queen Guinevere of Camelot. Continuous collection. Title: "The Queen's Life"
1. Parce Que Je Suis La Reine!

**Queen Guinevere**** of Camelot hardly got the attention she deserved in the real series of Merlin, did she? **

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**La Vie De La Reine**

**Scroll The First: ****Parce Que Je Suis La Reine! **

**(Because I Am The Queen!)**

"Be assured, my Lord, that when your time has passed, your deeds will never be forgotten. Even as I speak now, a great daybooke is being compiled in your honour, along with the customary annals detailing your celebrated deeds and the peace you have brought to Camelot, your tolerance towards magic, and other such triumphs. Poems and songs are being composed, and shall continue to be composed in the future. We shall sing of your bravery and chivalry, your influence and merciful nature. In a hundred years, there will be not a single man in this land who will live without having heard the name of Arthur Pendragon, less still a child. Every boy shall aspire to be as great as thou, and every man shall endeavour to live as you would. There is no doubt that you will be the greatest King that Albion has ever known."

Arthur bowed modestly, touched even by the laudatory speech provided by a visiting bard named Calvarr, also a Druid grateful for the wisdom he had shown in repealing the uncompromising ban on magic and inviting his people back to their old settlements. The assembled courtiers applauded wholeheartedly; words were not needed to declare their approval of the elderly speaker's complimentary prognostics for their beloved King. The Knights smiled in pride, especially Arthur's brother-in-law Elyan, who bowed low in his direction. Even then, perhaps none of those assembled felt a greater sense of much hoped-for achievement shining from their affectionate expressions than the Royal Court Sorcerer Merlin and the Queen, who entwined her fingers in those of her husbands.

"Thank you, good man," Arthur finally responded, when the clapping had subsided. "It is an honour to have you in our court. Be assured yourself, that Camelot will always welcome you and the Druid people."

"Your bountiful kindness continues to be rewarded threefold, Your Highness. And now, as I have said my piece, I will trouble you no more, and allow for a fellow subject to speak."

Suddenly Queen Guinevere disengaged her hand from Arthur's and sat up straighter on her throne, her expression outraged. She cleared her throat pointedly to signify that she had something to say to him.

"My Lady?" the bard queried nonchalantly.

"Is that IT?" she demanded imperiously.

A murmur of confusion rippled through the room, although no one dared speak aloud.

"I do not comprehend, Your Majesty?"

"How is it that I will not receive any honours in writing and song?"

Calvarr's eyebrows shot up, and his mouth went through several interesting contortions as he visibly debated how to answer this seemingly extraordinary demand. Agonising seconds, years of silence elapsed as the bard deliberated over what to say that would appease her. His mind did him a notorious wrong by remaining blank in face of the demand, but he could not reprimand himself upon that point. What did the King's wife want with accolades? Her role was to support and obey Arthur, was it not? What more could she want than that? Maybe… he frowned a little, maybe she wanted acknowledgement of her beauty- yes, that must be it. Well, of course, that was acceptable. He could answer that.

"W-well..." he began cautiously, "well... let it be that... they shall sing of your beauty and courtliness, your obedience to your husband and your sweet nature."

He relaxed, fully expecting her to thank him kindly, and so was sorely troubled when Guinevere's face screwed up into an exquisitely formed expression of disgust, and she snorted in derision, which shocked almost everyone assembled before the royal couple, even Merlin who, though he wholeheartedly agreed with his best friend and was indignant on her behalf, was used to her occasionally volatile temper.

"Ha! Beauty?! Courtliness?! Obedience to my husband?! My SWEET nature?!" Her voice rose in increased anger with each repeated phrase that she shouted at him, her voice dripping with liberal contempt. Calvarr shrank back, shooting a pleading look at Arthur, who was just as nonplussed and speechless as he. Guinevere shouting at a visiting Druid? A potential diplomatic disaster! What if he complained? What if he recounted the perceived rudeness of the Queen of Camelot to his people? What would his subjects say? How would he look? The King glanced fearfully at his wife, agonising over how to ask her to calm down with immediate effect. He shifted in his throne in the hope that she would notice him, and desist from the diatribe that he knew only too well from bitter experience was coming.

"The Queen is delighted with those praises," he rasped, endeavouring to mitigate the nasty atmosphere despite the dark expression his wife wore. "Like many women, she…" he trailed off as Guinevere silenced his well-meaning attempts to broker peace with a withering glare.

"Not such a sweet nature, then!" Merlin whispered to Gwaine, who only just managed to repress a shout of laughter.

"Is my name "many women"?!" she hissed, amongst the appalled stares of the majority of courtiers. Wives did not countermand their husbands, and definitely not in public! It just was NOT the done thing! None of the secretive whispering or her apparent breaching of the unwritten code of conduct worried the Queen, however. With a swish of her magnificent curls, she turned stormy eyes back to the cowering bard. "I want honours! How come only Arthur gets them?" It obvious that the Queen either did not care or was not aware of the fact that she sounded like a petulant child, and she was not finished creating a fuss: "Unless your eyes deceive you, Cal-varr, there are two people ruling this kingdom. TWO. Can you not see both thrones?"

"Ouch!" Merlin and Gwaine whispered to each other simultaneously.

"She is a feisty one, is our Queen," Elyan added proudly, and Leon nodded emphatically, also mightily impressed, excessively proud of the impassioned way that Guinevere spoke up for herself, defending her own interests and legacy.

"What about my achievements? Ah, so you did not know? You thought that all I did was sit in the Castle like a subservient docile simpleton?"

"My Lady, I know not what to think…"

"I wonder if you even think at all, my friend!" The "my friend" part was punctuated in a manner that was anything but friendly, and it made Arthur cringe very conspicuously, Merlin and Gwaine snort like pigs in an attempt to constrain their mirth, and slightly more audible gasps from the rest of Camelot's subjects who were witness to the confrontation.

"Who designed the new battlements defence plan that held off Helios' army? ME! Who reformed the taxation system to benefit the poorest of my subjects? ME! Who signed a trade agreement with Vanath's kingdom that has brought new supplies of metal to Camelot? ME! Who masterminded the intelligence operation that exposed Morgana's invasion plan? ME! Who helped Arthur fight the dragon of Genhor? ME! Who found and recovered the ancient Roman treasure trove in Londinium? Yes, it was ME!"

Calvarr licked parched lips, and shuffled from foot to foot awkwardly, nodding, huffing, clasping and unclasping his bony fingers. Was this really true- from a woman? He glanced furtively at Arthur, seeking a man's confirmation that this… lady had a hand in the political affairs of the kingdom. To his increased astonishment, the King nodded pointedly, affirming Guinevere's statements! It was all true! His eyes rolled about in his sockets for a while, his previously held notions in marked disarray. Surely not? But if Arthur concurred with her then… How strange, how inordinately unconventional!

"Indeed, my Lady, though I would not have… um, expected… that…"

"Would not have expected WHAT?" she thundered, making him and her husband recoil even further. Gwaine almost sank down to the floor in quiet mirth.

"N-Nothing, your Excellency, your Royal Highness…"

"Your Royal Loudness," Merlin whispered to Gwaine, who again almost choked in an effort to repress his snorts and snickers.

"I trust that you will amend the situation?" her voice had quietened down (though still bearing an authoritative tone), much to Arthur's relief. Everyone was going to be civil again, just as they ought; to emphasise this point, he raised his eyebrows expectantly at Calvarr.

"Y-Yes! Yes, indeed, my Lady, indeed, Your Magnificence; just as they shall sing of the King, they shall write and sing of your wisdom, your influence, your fighting spirit, your…um, way with words…?" He sneaked a peek at the lady to see if his allusion to her demanding manner would anger her. To his surprise, she had completely calmed down, so much so that a particularly dazzling smile had now spread over her previously wonderfully infuriated features, and he raised his eyebrows, perplexed. Now the Queen was happy with his response? Well, it must have been the correct one, if it pleased the monarch. He looked to Arthur for guidance, in need of a man who could decipher the complex code of woman to him, and was rewarded with an approving nod. Encouraged, he straightened up to his full height, folding his hands carefully behind his back, and proceeded thus:

"As has been discussed," he announced importantly, obviously ignoring the fact that everything had been shouted at him, "as we honour our King, we must also honour our Queen."

Arthur could not help feeling that the supremely smug expression on his wife's face was rather attractive, and he pondered upon this before realizing that he should be clapping along with everyone else. In all honesty, he had not considered that Guinevere should also be entitled to a laudatory report of her achievements as Queen, expecting that she would be satisfied with the customary praise about her beauty, and her role as a wife. Clearly, he still had more to discover about the love of his life, as it appeared that she was just as independently minded now that she was married as she was before it. And, somehow, that only made him more in love with her.

Come to think of it, he had felt guilty when he heard her reasons (her radically loud protestations) for seeking the same respect as he, for they were all undisputedly valid, and to have ignored all that, to have ignored someone's merit simply because she was a woman would have been to take the kind of course that he had vowed to avoid when he acceded to the throne.

It was a given that the King always took his wife's side, but his reasoning behind this was genuine. He loved her deeply, yes. More importantly, though, he held her in a regard that could not be overestimated, and now agreed with her (though in more diplomatic terms) that her invaluable counsel and ruler ship should equally be honoured and recounted by generations to come. He caught her vivacious eyes, smiling lovingly at her, a rush of affection and irrevocable pleasure of being in her company, having her as his wife washing over him once again.

"I trust that you will leave this court happy?" Arthur asked tentatively after the applause had ceased. He did not wish for Calvarr to give an unflattering report of the hospitality he had received; to his relief, the Druid bowed his head graciously, seemingly appeased now that he had drawn out a smile from Guinevere.

"There is no cause for offence on my part, Your Majesty, where credit is due, credit is due."

Arthur smiled again. Another diplomatic triumph; another shining medallion in his arsenal! Not even a tongue-lashing would stop Calvarr from leaving Camelot satisfied!

"Excellent!" he replied enthusiastically. "Excellent... very, very excellent!"

Merlin and Gwaine were once again lost in a maze of hysterics at Arthur's reply, ignoring Elyan's furious nudges and Leon's disapproving glares at their discourteous behaviour, their irreverent attitude in Arthur and Guinevere's presence. The beginnings of a reproving speech he planned to issue to Gwaine later on materialised in his mind. (He would have included the Court Sorcerer in his diatribe too, had he not feared being turned into a toad or a troll for his pains).

"I thank you, my Lord."

There! No harm done; Arthur received his honours; Guinevere received hers, and retained her composure. Calvarr was not unduly scarred by the occasion. The Queen sat up straighter in her chair, and nodded to him with an equal show of respect, and then smirked at her husband, who grinned back feebly. She had what she wanted, what she considered to be her right; respect, recognition and her fair share of pages in Camelot's annals. All in a days work, she thought happily to herself.****

I might demand an official portrait of myself next.

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**The last line is always Guinevere's own thoughts. This is a collection that I will update as an when inspiration strikes me. I hope you enjoy it if you felt that Guinevere was pushed under the rug as soon as she was coronated. If not, please cut me down to size with a comment, if you like. I won't cry. **


	2. Les Fantomes!

**Here is another instalment. I think I was getting into the hang of thinking up scenario's for this one, so hopefully, I will have more to come when the inspiration strikes me. **

**By the way, I realized (to my shame), that I haven't thanked you guys for silent reading, favs/follows and reviews. You are all great.**

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**La Vie De La Reine 2**

**Scroll The Second: Les Fantômes!**

**(Ghosts!)**

"Ah..._ that_ corridor... We do not go there, my Lady."

The Queen swivelled her head towards Sir Leon, an enquiring expression on her face. He and Sir Gwaine were taking her on an impromptu tour of the Castle, ostensibly because the latter considered escorting and keeping Her Majesty company to be his honourable duty. The real reason was that he had accidentally split a barrel of mead in the wine cellars, causing a flood- Arthur knew who the perpetrator of the crime was, and should the King catch even the slightest, alcohol-tinged whiff of his Knight, murder would soon follow. Leon didn't know Gwaine was the criminal, else he would have grassed him up without a second thought.

Nevertheless, it made obvious sense that Gwaine did everything within his power to avoid the vengeful path of Arthur Pendragon, in settling for his more attractive other half. So far, the trio had traversed chilly corridors, winding staircases with cobwebs that hung like ghastly curtains almost halfway down the walls, various archways with archaic designs, musty, rat-infested caverns, vicious Vaults and battered battlements. Guinevere was enjoying herself; as a serving girl, she knew more of the Castle's anatomy than most, but had never expected that there was so much more to this wonderfully antiquated dwelling place than met the eye. It was with much enthusiasm that she urged her Knights to take her to the darkest, spookiest, most desolate corners imaginable, and even with certain reservations on Leon's part, her will was law.

They were standing in front of a porch bearing a simple, yet strikingly lifelike wooden engraving of King Rufus and Queen Atha, who had ruled Camelot for a grand total of six weeks until they were executed for forging a secret military alliance with the Mercian King Grunald. Guinevere reached up and brushed her fingers lightly against the masterly etchings, feeling a tremor of awe snake its way through her body. Yet even the tragic depiction of the execution was not intriguing enough for her; it was what lay beyond that had brought out an excited gleam in her eyes- a narrow passageway decorated on each side by two long scrolls which still bore faint traces of the once-colourful inks that must have made the piece a crowning glory. The corridor was not lit, but Guinevere could see tiny threads of light in the gloom, meaning there must be some kind of window further on. She was dying to jump and explore, just like a little girl- except, Leon, and even the reckless Gwaine to some extent were looking decidedly nervous; he was actually shuffling and averting his eyes.

"Why not? Because... " Here he paused to clear his throat with unnecessary vigour (he was buying himself time); "Because, my most gracious Lady... Legend has it that... that corridor is, ah... haunted."

Here, he took a meaningful step backwards, expecting that she would follow suit and totter off to find some marginally safer way of amusing herself for the rest of that morning.

Guinevere raised an eyebrow, then threw back her head and laughed.

After she had thoroughly indulged her mirth in front of them, she reverted back to her Queenly pose and patted her friend gently on the arm. "Haunted," she repeated, voice shaking with laughter. "Of course. Well, I will not force you..."

And she strode swiftly towards the entrance, leaving behind two flabbergasted young Knights and a volley of shocked gasps to boot. She spun back theatrically, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "Is something wrong, gentlemen?"

"My Lady... you are not seriously planning to... go it alone?" Leon whispered, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "This place is really not one, even for the adventurous, ah, kind- come now, there are many other places we could visit, is that not so, Gwaine?"

Said Knight chewed on his lip a little before replying: "I don't know; maybe we could just take a peek-"

"Oh, I should have known, you little enabler!" Leon hissed out of the corner of his mouth; "Always one for trouble, weren't you?"

To further aggravate Leon, Gwaine stepped forward and came to rest by the Queen's side, grinning all the while. "I am with you, my Lady- and I commend both our lives to the gods!" He effected a melodramatic bow to accompany his flowery proclamation of allegiance. "This will separate the men from the boys." (Aimed at Leon, of course).

"Ha!" the latter spat; "Real men don't make cheap jokes at their comrades expense..." He trailed off, coughing awkwardly. "I'm coming- but only so that it will never be said that I abandoned my Queen in her hour of need. Do not think of this as me accompanying a young scallywag and layabout on another foolish misadventure."

Guinevere smiled gratefully, secretly knowing that he would have come all along; he never deserted her, regardless of his own objections- he was a true, honest and reliable friend in every sense of the word. They glanced at each other in anticipation before they crept into the corridor, with the Queen taking an alarmingly bold lead. They had gone a few paces, and already, those tiny threads of light were swelling into beams of a rope-sized thickness, even though they were still enclosed in a relatively narrow space. Leon cast a nostalgic glance at the diminishing entrance before he gritted his teeth and continued to follow Gwaine and his Queen, advancing inwards to their dreaded doom...

"So why- oh, that echo is strong!" The Queen glanced upwards and found the answer; the deceptive height of the entrance porch meant that they had overlooked the ceiling- or lack thereof. Even with the increasing light, she could not quite make out where the walls stopped and the ceiling began, but whatever it was about the odd construction, it was playing havoc with the way her voice projected around the other two. "Anyway," she continued in a lower tone; "Why are you so averse to us visiting this place, Leon?"

"It is said that the ghost of King Rufus and Queen Atha haunt this place, seeking revenge for their execution by striking down every third person who enters this corridor, or drinking a pint of blood from every visitor."

"They sound quite flexible!" Gwaine chuckled, inspired by her effortless bravery, but Leon mumbled something about "inappropriate humour", growing more jittery by the second. He wasn't scared, as such- well, he was. In fact, a shaking skeleton had more courage in one ligament than he did even behind the protective barriers of chainmail that enclosed his vital organs- not to mention his trusty sword. The only thing that kept him going was Guinevere, largely unarmed and in yet another flowing night-blue gown with insanely intricate embroidery, striding on ahead with purposeful steps as though this whole cursed ghost story was some idle tale fabricated by the drunk, imaginative and unemployed. Come to think of it, few things besides losing her husband frightened her at all. He had seen her pull Arthur out of the way of a dragon years ago, defeat the Lamia when no fully-trained Knight could and outwit even the most devious of bandits. In truth, he should have been at the head, but since Arthur wasn't around, he was happy to allow her to lead them into places unknown. Should the King find out, there would be hell to pay- but until then... let her meet the ghosts first.

"Well, I do think it is a little cruel to execute the Royal Couple for meeting with Grunald-"

"Not "meeting" as such, my Lady," Gwaine corrected her; "They conspired with Grunald to sell some of Camelot's land to him in exchange for some of the legendary Roman reserves of gold he reportedly kept."

"I bet he was lying about the Roman gold!"

"He was. And when the Queen's maidservant found out and spilled the beans, there was hell to pay. Grunald stopped returning their letters and proclaimed complete ignorance of the whole deal, Rufus and Atha lied their way through trial, and paid for it with their heads. Rather messy, so I read."

"How do you know all that?" Guinevere queried; Gwaine was not native to Camelot, after all, and his airy expression was rather suspicious. "Oh, just from a few scrolls that chanced to come my way... Nothing major."

"You like spooky tales, don't you?" she guessed, "Either that or you made sport with some poor woman in order to gather-" Gwaine laughed again, whilst Leon pretended (once again) that he had heard nothing at all.

The former may have confirmed whether or not he had harboured ulterior motives for his surprising knowledge had there not been a sudden scraping noise coming from beyond them. Even Guinevere seemed a little perturbed, for she stopped abruptly, and peered back at Leon. All three stared at each other, unsure of how to proceed until the Queen remembered an easy way of finding out; with her fingers, she gestured towards Gwaine, then the opposing wall, and motioned for Leon to walk closer to herself. Now with this handy, militaristic two-one formation, they would be able to pre-empt any sudden moves and avoid all being screwed at the same time.

On the count of three, they sidled along the walls, keeping an ear out for the sound, which had mysteriously stopped when Guinevere did. Sure enough, it came again, this time much louder, a pronounced grinding of stone and metal. Then there was an eery silence... then a haunting, disembodied whisper sifted through the air and into their startled ears. _"My pretty... my precioussss..."_ Even Guinevere was visibly unsettled, though she pursed her lips and continued to step forward. They were reaching a definite bend and from the increasing light, she knew that they would soon approach a larger space... and the source of these strange noises. Her heart was racing erratically, despite the determined look in her eyes.

In fact, she felt frightened and brave at the same time; maybe the two emotions were actually one and the same- at least in her case. At the very least, her trepidation was inspiring her dedication to the adventure at hand, and her legs kept moving swiftly forward, each step covered bringing her inexorably closer to their goal- presumably, the enraged, bloodthirsty ghosts of Rufus and Atha... A blood-curdling screech rang out into the air, and Leon clutched his Queen's arm in terror, who for her part was pinned to the wall in fear. Her breathing rate accelerated for a while in the aftermath, but she checked both of her men to assure herself of their safety. Once again, they edged forward with a little less gusto.

Now they were swerving sharply to the right, and Gwaine's wall led off into the open, leaving him vulnerable to any kind of attack... Guinevere lunged for his arm and dragged him to their side- and just in time: a small, yet pugnacious statuette came hurtling from around the bend towards the space where he had been painful seconds beforehand. Just as they were heaving a collective sigh of relief, another statuette smashed onto the floor, paces from the trio huddled by the wall. Another step- another statuette, each object creeping closer to them. Only when the fifth one had smashed mere centimetres from the Queen's feet (which she wryly named "an act of treason"), she had an idea- if the statuettes were landing progressively closer to them, then they would have to cross over. She nudged her Knights and gestured that they double back on themselves, and scoot over to the opposing wall once more. Done. They watched in satisfaction as the sixth statuette crashed and burned into the very space Leon's head had been.

Unfortunately, their new position opened them up to a whole new horrible spectacle; a giant spider blocking the entrance to what seemed like a larger crypt furnished with a solitary window set up high on the furthest wall... Leon balked as he pulled out his sword, mirroring Gwaine's gut reaction. But Guinevere shook her head at them, silently pointing to glistening, dripping fangs protruding from the spider's horrifyingly hairy underside.

"We're going to have to crawl through its legs," she advised in a whisper. "Leon? Are you alright?"

"Y-Yes, my Lady," he squeaked, trying to keep the bile of fright from projecting out of his stomach. "Perfectly fine."

"You can stay here if-"

"No, no; I will follow wherever you lead, My Lady," he assured her in a firmer voice. Hell, his arachnophobia could jolly well wait, but he would protect Guinevere with every ounce of energy he had... Even if he wanted to punch that inappropriate, untimely smirk from Gwaine's face.

"Remember," Guinevere whispered, "crawl through the legs; there is plenty of room. I have the feeling that liquid coming off our dear spider is poison."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the other two chorused, and sank to their knees in synchronised motion; this was why training in the fields on a daily basis was so useful, even if right now, they looked as though they were paying homage to this unearthly monstrosity. Guinevere closed her eyes briefly and then took the lead once more; Leon scuttled off in her wake, and Gwaine took his time, meandering around those hairy pillars with ease, a smirk and a jaunty tune whistled under his breath. He only grew serious when he glanced up to see the Queen frowning at him in impatient disapproval from the other side ("She made it over pretty quickly!" he thought in admiration).

Now, all three stood gawping at their surroundings; an equally large and eternally lofty chamber, still retaining its Roman ancestry as evident from the intricate mosaic patterns beneath their boots. In the furthest corner that yawned into the distance ahead of them was a thick cocoon of cobwebs. Guinevere could just about make out the tantalising glimpse of another oversized spider's leg from within the snowy-white blanket. The walls that enclosed them were far less uniform- indeed, they were so uneven that the Queen was sure this place cannot have been intended as an actual room. Either that or it was created before men knew how to shape stone and marble... yes, maybe that was it. Even that was not what drew her attention the most, nor the atrocious aroma of devilish decay, nor even the louder whispers of _"my pretty, my precious"..._

No, it was the ghastly objects sitting on a dusty table that had her mouth hung agape in pure disgust: two mouldy, shrivelled heads with agonised expressions and maggots crawling in and out of each orifice sat side by side.

"Rufus and Atha," she breathed, almost gagging as she realized that after their execution, the grisly remains must have been brought down here. "God, that is revolting..."

And then, on the heels of that statement, both heads began to levitate into the air, a humming noise erupted from nowhere, and in a blinding flash of green light from the furthest right hand corner, two headless ghosts materialised from thin air, all headed straight for Queen Guinevere. Frozen to the spot in terror, there was only one option worth taking:

"RRRUUUNNN!"

_**One day this is going to be a funny story...**_

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**So mostly Queen Guinevere in this one, getting into quite a scrape. Remember what happens here, because it will be mentioned in the next instalment. Thanks for reading! **


	3. Mon Mari Et Moi

**Slightly longer instalment here, just to patch up the previous one later and provide an insight into the Royal Couple. As ever, enjoy or not. And thanks for the reviews, by the way. I do read them. **

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**La Vie De La Reine**

**Scroll The Fourth: ****Mon Mari Et Moi**

**(My Husband and I)**

The King and Queen dynamic; it wasn't easily explained, at least from Guinevere's perspective. If she was serious about describing it, she could only do so through a variety of scenarios- as follows...

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For example, every morning, she rolled over in her sleep, unwittingly sliding gently into Arthur's arms.

Strands of golden sunlight had just begun to filter through the window, hitting her face; it must be dawn. Her eyes flickered open at the pleasant sensation of her forehead touching the fronds of blond locks that hung over her husband's face giving him a wickedly appealing boyish look. As nice as it felt, snuggled next to Arthur, she considered this hour to be the waking hour. Even as the Queen, she had never grown out of rising at the crack of dawn since the days of her servant hood- she enjoyed the morning, with its beautiful tranquillity and she knew that in the lower town, her old friends would be up and running, ready for the new day... Her eyes flickered back over to his long lashes, eyes closed in sleep, enjoying the strength of his arms encircling her, like a protective barrier. Arthur hated waking up; the last time he had woken early was on their wedding day; otherwise, he would sleep for hours on end if only Merlin would allow him.

Today, she needed to rise and find something to do, but it was tempting just to linger a little longer in Arthur's seductive embrace. She didn't blame herself when she allowed her fingers to run lightly up his swollen bicep, or when her hand came to rest on the side of his face, revelling in the warmth of his skin. He smelt intoxicatingly musky and Gwen found herself burrowing ever closer to him, her senses craving more of the elusive essence. Just one more fleeting caress and she would get out of bed...

She was still repeating this to herself much later as her fingers tangled themselves into his hair and she slithered further into his arms. Her nose brushed his, waking him, his eyes full of an endearing confusion before something clicked in his mind- probably the fact that the doe-eyed beauty cuddled next to him was his wife- and a loving smile apeared, one of such a profound adoration that made Gwen's breath catch in her throat, though she knew that his love was mirrored both in her expression and tender morning kiss placed on his lips.

"What time is it?" he slurred, playing with her hair.

"The crack of dawn," she informed him smartly, and then laughed as his face crossed in horror.

"Dawn?! Isn't that midnight?"

"No comment. I am waking up, anyway." She wriggled free of his embrace, meaning to leave their bedstead.

"Do you have to?" he whined softly. "What is this strange thing you call dawn, anyway?"

Whatever smart answer she had prepared was drowned out in a groan as Arthur flipped onto his back, pulling her on top of him. Her heart scudded inside her chest at the intimacy. She had promised herself that these... occasions would be limited to times when they were not at risk of having Merlin make a sudden appearance, but the way she was feeling right now... Well, suffice to say that she was not in the mood to follow her own instructions. He smirked at her, probably enjoying how her resistance was fast crumbling into fine dust.

"You know, I believe we were in this position last night," he murmured, full lips brushing her mouth agonisingly lightly; it was her turn to groan, willing him to go for the plunge, but Arthur seemed to have learnt how to play her- build the tension by being uncompromisingly stingy, and then act on his eternally pent-up desire for her.

"Arthur, just do it... Damn you..." she hissed, leaning in to lock lips with him, but he chuckled, moving neatly out of the way as he had been trained to do as a Knight, depositing her onto the other side of the bed.

"I am tired," he explained, grinning as his eyes shut. "Wake me up nearer midday- or as I like to call it- morning."

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Another typical day in her life would wind up like this; a dreary, miserable afternoon, with the clouds lurking low in the skies and her feeling irritable, being held in the grip of her monthly courses. She really wasn't in the mood for anything at the moment, not least discussing the particulars of the levies raised on imports in order to protect Camelot's traders. The prospect of a later meeting was too much to bear. She had spent most of the morning sitting in a comfortable chair, watching her husband and Court Sorcerer exchange witty banter, as they so often did. Then she dropped off to sleep around the time the conversation degenerated into petty insults and childish arm shoving.

When a spell went wrong and she woke up drenched in wine, there was hell to pay. When moved to anger, the pristine, exquisite Queen of Camelot had a mouth like a drunken sailor, which both men (and the guards outside) learnt the hard way... again.

Now, in the afternoon, the skies had cleared, planting the hope in her mind that tomorrow would be a good day- and speaking of which...

"Arthur... why is tomorrow special?"

The King paused from writing and flicked his quill against his mouth to consider. "Tomorrow is special because... something special is happening."

Behind her, she could hear Merlin crack up, but that didn't stop her mouth from dropping open in complete outrage and her hand making severe contact with the back of his head. Three years and he was still so hopeless. Three good years, plenty of time in which to remember that tomorrow was their wedding anniversary! Had he even planned anything, or had he left it all to Merlin? Take a wild guess.

"It's our anniversary, you cretin!"

"Ow- that was what I was going to say, wasn't it Merlin?"

"To be perfectly honest with you-"

"_MER-_ lin... That _is_ what I was going to say, wasn't it?"

The Court Sorcerer amended his sentence, and grinned, promising the Queen (in a marginally more respectful tone) that she could expect a wonderful occasion completely deserving of a monarch. Now it didn't look good to still be angry, even if Arthur was visibly relieved for Merlin's assistance, so she counted to three in her head, and then flashed a dazzling smile at Merlin.

"Thank you; good to know _someone_ is making an effort in this marriage!"

* * *

And on other days, she would wake up to this:

"You have rigged this workload to benefit yourself!"

The precise scenario was of her and her husband inside their chambers, standing around the dining table, staring in despair at a horrific mound of scrolls heaped up seductively anywhere and everywhere. Such was the price of monarchy; piles and piles of paperwork, all lounging around vying for the loving attention of a quill. The King had immediately conjured a plan to divide the workload between them, which of course benefited himself. He had hoped that she wouldn't notice whilst she scanned and compared her monumental pile to his miniscule one, but he could almost smell the fireworks coming even before she raised her stormy eyes to his.

Arthur gave her a completely innocent look; too bad his mouth had this tiny little crook at the left-hand corner, rendering his expression as a smirk, which further infuriated his wife. And this was a completely bad idea for she was eternally trapped within the confines of a corset, which served to crush her ribs for the good of her figure. No pain, no gain. Except when she got annoyed, it made her heave and wince as she struggled between propagating her fury and staying calm in line with that bloody etiquette she had to follow.

"But taxes bore me!" he protested, trying not to watch the idle swell and compression of her breasts in today's ravishing gown; indigo slashed with a bloody crimson at the sleeves. Delightful. But he couldn't stare for too long... Except her did, and caught her baleful glare at the end of a secret ogling session. "I-I mean... you are a wonderfully intelligent woman, whose inestimable talents would be better served... doing all those stupid sums. Sound good?"

The Queen's eyes bored into his. Now they had come to the point of no return, a typical interlude in their vociferous arguments. She stared him down, he resisted up to a point, and then allowed her to win. (Or so he claimed). Wielding this power over him was one of her favourite past-times; there was something mildly arousing about watching him pout when he knew that he wasn't going to be able to coerce her into running along with his impetuous demands. Coupled with a suggestive tilt of an eyebrow, he was putty in her hands until he could think of a better idea. Right now, he couldn't practice said idea because Merlin and Freya were present, eyeing both of them knowingly.

"Merlin, explain to Guinevere why I am right and she is wrong," Arthur ordered. "That's cheating, Arthur," the Queen protested; she might be able to subdue him, but he knew that once Merlin had spoken at a great deal of length with a significant amount of passion, she was practically defenceless. If he had proposed that she strip naked and run along the battlements of the Castle in broad daylight, she would have done it if he had held her shoulders and explained to her precisely why this would be the best thing she had ever done. Right now, she could have strangled Arthur. Trust him to weasel his way out of her clutches.

Every single half-arsed time.

* * *

So apart from his many, many, many faults, he was a wonderful person- which of course, he never failed to remind her himself, just as all modest men do.

Nevertheless, she allowed him to indulge his exaggerated self-importance; it amused her and besides, whatever made him happy had to be the best idea in the world. She was completely used to the pantomime by now, the mixture of detached and seductive camaraderie that kept her running into his arms every night, though she liked to pretend to be completely disaffected by his misguided attempts at charm, which were more self-congratulatory than was required. Typical of him. Maybe he was more in love with himself...

Still, underneath it all, he simply made her heart melt. When the unfathomable layers of his braggadocio had been peeled away (maybe a century later), she found a warm, caring and truly kind-hearted man who could make her feel as though she were the only other person in the room, so treasured and precious. She was very lucky, that much was evident, so nothing had prevented her from seeking him out whenever she could back in the old days of kissing in dusty corners to avoid being tied to a stump of wood and roasted in the name of the law. Breaking the rules had been dangerous obviously, but there had also been a rush of exhilaration when one of them had devised a new way of continuing their affair. Smiling, as she brushed her curly locks, she recalled the time he had faked an illness and required her assistance, or she had called him in, ostensibly to fit him out with some new armour.

But now, even their secret smiles and hurried kisses of them- endearing as they were- could never compare to the complete and utter satisfaction of having Arthur all to herself as her very own. No one could question their legitimacy (even if they might still frown and grumble in private), no one could hurt them, no one could hunt them down, no one could throw her in jail or accuse her of sorcery (because that was just getting _so_ boring). Every day for the rest of her life, she could wake up and feel him wrapped around her and not have to fear for their future of pretend that the prospect of him marrying someone else was of no concern. She didn't have to cry quietly out of anxiety and jealousy, and he didn't have to mope around, miserable. It couldn't all be sweetness and light, which she preferred. There were the sarcastic jibes, the petty squabbles as well as the times when they had to be apart, but as long as he was next to her, no challenge was insurmountable. He was hers and she was his. It was perfect, unbelievable, pre-destined.

Sometimes, though, it was a bloody pantomime.

* * *

**Il Lui Avait Pris En Flagrant Délit**

**She Was Totally Busted.**

Queen Guinevere was leaning against a dusty wall of the Eastern Wing, trying to catch her racing breath whilst Leon inspected the extensive damage to the Eastern Wing in despair, and Gwaine licked his teeth as he did when immeasurably pleased with himself. In her hand, Excalibur swung downwards, glinting with a dull sheen in the musty darkness, and right next to her ravishing black and violet gown were two putrid, petrified heads that had been neatly sliced in half by two superbly executed swishing blows on Guinevere's part. Even Leon had been impressed and dismissive of her handing the credit over to stolen Excalibur. She didn't feel like a hero- certainly didn't look like one either. Her locks tumbled all around her shoulders and face, she felt rather sticky with all the exertions of battling two bloodthirsty ghosts, and she had ripped her gown in a hundred hard-to-find places. Moreover, neither the horrific mess all around them nor the theft of Excalibur would not be so easily explained. The Queen had already come forward generously to assume all the blame when Arthur inevitably found out (having a Court Sorcerer for a best friend came with advantages relating to alarmingly accurate clairvoyance), but both her Knights could see that she was balking at the idea. On the other hand, they were not going to come forward themselves and confess, unless they wanted to explain to the King why they had allowed Guinevere to be chased by two deadly ghosts. Arthur would explode. Heads would roll. The sun might as well hide behind a cloud.

No, that option was simply not viable.

So, if the Queen was understandably reluctant to confess to swiping the King's sword without his prior knowledge (not to mention putting herself in grave danger and wrecking the East wing to boot), and Gwaine could not face the King for the afore-mentioned wine-cellar flooding, and Leon did not want to tarnish his "good boy" image, then there was only one option left. Cowardly or not, it seemed as though they would have to swear complete ignorance of the affair and hope for the best. As the Queen surveyed her Knights, she met recognition of her thoughts reflected in their eyes. Solemnly, Gwaine extricated a small vial and dagger from within his chainmail, and beckoned the other two closer. They watched impassively as he laid out both items onto a fallen statue, and pricked his thumb precisely until a crimson bead of blood oozed out and was guided into the glass neck of the waiting vial. Leon did the same, and then the Queen herself without so much as a whisper of pain. This being done, the three of them ran to the edge of the wind and peered around; no one was in sight. Without another word, they dashed away in separate directions, presumably to wash, change and live the lie that they knew nothing of the catastrophe that had taken place behind them.

So far, so good.

Until it was not so good.

Yet another feature of their relationship was brought to light when Arthur was far from pleased to discover Excalibur not in her usual resting place, and a horrific pigsty in the Eastern Wing, along with the loss of several 300 year old vases.

"What is it Arthur?"

"Some kind of disturbance in the corridor where the ghosts of Rufus and Atha supposedly rest. Someone used my sword to fight them and broke a lot of Castle ornaments in the process. Leon has confessed, and I suspect GWaine must have had something to do with it, but I am pretty sure that there was a third accomplice, certainly one who could have such easy access to my sword..." He trailed off, looking at her expectantly. "I... don't suppose you happen to know anything about that?"

The Queen's eyes widened before she remembered that she, Gwaine and Leon had sworn each other to silence over the affair. Who could have seen the trio dashing off as though their lives depended upon their immediate escape? Well, it sort of had, until she had devised the brilliant idea of fighting the ghosts using Excalibur, which she had "borrowed" from Arthur's wardrobe. A whole hour later of clashes and clanging, broken ornaments, billowing clouds of choking dust and anguished roars from both ghosts- not to mention the smell, Guinevere had vanquished the intruders and scampered off with her co-conspirators someplace private that they could swear a blood oath to stay silent and carry on with their lives as though they had a clue. She had certainly not been expecting her husband to catch wind of the travesty, but she should have known; he wasn't totally oblivious, she reminded herself for possibly the millionth time. This was his Castle, after all.

Smiling, she walked over behind Arthur's chair and massaged his shoulders. To lie or not to lie? Her best shot was to avoid the question altogether.

"I'll look into it; you'd best stick with taxes and all that."

He shot her a curious glance all of a sudden. "Taxes are _your _job- as we agreed. Is there something you are not telling me?"

_Oh, for the love of the gods..._

She pulled away from him and studied his expression thoughtfully for a moment, trying to gauge the potential range of his reactions. If she knew her husband- which she did- he could explode pretty quickly, so it went without saying that some subjects were best approached with the utmost care and diplomacy. It certainly paid off to assess every single change in his facial expression to ensure that she was on the right track all the way. Such was the dynamic between the Queen and her King. Unfortunately, Arthur had grown wise to her game of strategic pauses, and had now schooled his expression so that he couldn't give anything away; she tightened her lips and decided to take a stab in the dark.

"How angry will you get?" she enquired tremulously.

"CHASED by two bloodthirsty ghosts? What were you thinking, Guinevere? You could have been seriously injured- why didn't you leave the fighting to Leon and Gwaine? Believe me, when I get to the bottom of this, it will be your _worst_ nightmare."

Guinevere appraised him in a mixture of trepidation and amusement. "In that case, I had absolutely nothing to do with it, my love."

_Ha! Two can play at this game._

* * *

**_Guinevere wins again, huh? Some Right Royal Arwen sexual tension there, no? _**


End file.
